


A Norwegian Yule

by FinduilasLissesul



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Advent Calendar, Canon Universe, Christmas, I wanted to get some writing done, Modern Era, Traditions, Yule, bonus points for those who guess which town Norway lives in, it's just feel-good stuff, so I'll be posting a short chapter every day of the month, so this is just a fun bit for december
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinduilasLissesul/pseuds/FinduilasLissesul
Summary: Did you know how immensely popular advent calendars are in Norway? No?Here you can join Norway for a short peek into his everyday life during the month of December and become more familiar with some of the traditions of the holiday.
Relationships: Norway & Sweden (Hetalia)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. First Sunday in Advent

A single match fizzed as it lit up and a steady hand slowly moved it towards a candle. As the light from the purple candle cast a soft light over the immediate surroundings the match died as the person holding it blew on it. The flame flickered visibly in the dim living room there it stood on a side-table along with three candles of the same kind. Outside the windows there was a dark outline of the spruces surrounding the house and the glowing lights from the city were barely visible. Earlier, in November, there had been a soft blanket of snow covering the fields, but that melted a few weeks ago.

  
Norway picked up a clementine from the bowl full of them by the single lit candle and sat down in the armchair next to the table. Turning it slowly between his hands, he began peeling the fruit and the sweet and fresh aroma filled the room. The only sound that could be heard came from an old pendulum clock ticking away in the corner, too far away from any roads with cars this late in the evening. A soft vibration from the phone in his pocket disrupted Norway’s peeling as he abandoned the fruit for answering.   
“America?”

  
“Hey, dude! I’m just calling around to confirm people’s answers to my invitation this year. Celebrating the New Year with all of us together would be super! And I’m hoping as many as possible can make it. So, what do you say?”

  
“It’s in New York this year as well?”

  
“Sure is! It’s going to be the best! Lots of food and drinks for everyone.”

  
“Sounds good. I’ll be there.”

  
“Great! Look forward to it, it’s going to be amazing!”

  
Norway didn’t manage to say anything else before America hung up on him. Huffing as he put the phone down on the table, he continued with his clementine. The best thing with America’s parties was always the abundance of free alcohol being handed out. It was almost worth the expensive flight across the Atlantic. Another great thing with the annual New Year’s party was that is had become about the only event where you’d meet the rest of the world in non-official business. You just had to tolerate all the loud Americans for a few days and you’d have a pleasant stay. Already finding himself looking forward to it, Norway used his phone to turn on the TV screen in front of him and played some themed music.   
  
_You must become nice before the Yule Nisse arrives  
Save up for Mercedes and shine your shoes  
Learn Chinese and flush the toilet  
Walk across Greenland as Nansen and them  
You must become nice before the Yule Nisse arrives  
  
Let the Nynorsk die in peace  
Rise the birth-rate up to three  
Empty the atom bomb storage in Ural  
Crush every religion with doubt  
Save the rainforest in Brazil  
Stop the melting of ice in Nepal  
  
Stop the war in Afghanistan and send the soldiers home  
You must become nice before the Yule Nisse arrives  
  
_Yes, nothing sets the mood for Yule as a little bit of criticism of society.


	2. Gift Shopping

The streets were busy, people hurrying to and from the stores, and the occasional street musicians playing on their accordion. Between the buildings hung decorations and lights, creating a cosy atmosphere up and down the cobblestone road. The people were all wearing thick jackets or coats and some had a scarf thrown around their necks. The air was cold and steam left Norway’s mouth every time he exhaled. He could feel the sting of the red on the tip of his nose as he made his way down the street. It was the second of December and Norway had planned to finish the Christmas gifts early this year. He pulled his tuque further down on his head before he stuck his mittens into the jacket’s pockets again. Even though it was below zero degrees, the snow had yet to make an appearance in the city. It was almost sixteen hundred hours and the darkness kept creeping in over the old wooden buildings, engulfing everything.

  
Norway entered a small store to his left and slowly began to browse the items. It wasn’t always easy to shop for his fellow nations. After all; what to buy that they didn’t have already? And on top of that he also had to find presents for his king and queen _and_ the prime minister. In today’s society and with the culture of consumption, he usually tried to stray away from that, and rather buy something like a bottle of alcohol or a nice cheese. To a few countries outside of Scandinavia he often sent a bottle of aquavit, because he knew no one liked it and to see them pretend they were grateful of the gift always brought him joy. Especially rewarding was it to see the grimaces France came up with. That the wine-loving country had a hard time appreciating liquor made from potato was hardly a surprise. As for England, he got the same gift every year: a huge Norwegian pine tree to put up at Trafalgar Square in London. Of course, that was very official, so privately they exchanged more informal presents.

  
The store he had walked into sold mainly clothes, and there were many knitted sweaters there. Perhaps he could buy one for Iceland? He rarely went clothes shopping any more. When you’d lived for a thousand years, clothes tend to pile up and they ended up with more than they really used. But you could never have enough knitted sweaters. Most of those in the store was clearly handmade and with traditional regional patterns. Well. Clothes always got ruined, so it couldn’t hurt to have an extra pair. In fact, he should get one for the other Nordics as well. After he found some patterns he was happy with, went up to the register and paid for them, he went out on the street again and into the liquor store across the road to buy some aquavit for France. Germany could get one as well he decided as he walked down the aisles. Did he need to get presents to more nations? Nah, they all had too much stuff anyway, so he was sure no one would really care. This would do for now.

  
Norway walked over to the bus stop after he finished buying, and had to wait a few more minutes until his bus came. There was a lot of people out in the streets today, and many of them were on their way home now as well, so when he stepped onto the bus he had to stand. After about fifteen minutes of travel there was enough space for him to sit. The shopping bags he placed between his feet on the floor. At the last stop of the route, there was only Norway and an old lady left, who stepped out before him. As the bus disappeared behind him, he grabbed better hold of his bags and begun walking up a side road. There were no lights there, only the stars in the sky to illuminate fields and forests. After ten minutes of walking in the cold weather, Norway reached his destination: a two story, elongated, white house with a red barn beside it along with a storehouse, just at the border where the trees met the field.

  
On the stairs leading up to the front door, Norway paused to retrieve the keys from his pocket before he unlocked the door and stepped inside. He placed the bag down in the hallway as he clicked on the lights and went over to a small closet by the stairs leading up to the second floor. After a bit of searching he found what he was looking for. He brought the item along with him into the living room and over to a window that was facing the road. On a hook hanging in the windowsill, he hung up the Christmas-star and plugged it in the outlet above. A cosy, dulled light fell upon the furniture around the room and Norway let a small smile come to his lips. He turned around and continued into the kitchen where he picked up an advent calendar that lay on top of the table. In very short time, he found the number 2 and popped it open to eat the chocolate inside. As the treat melted on his tongue, he looked over to the living room and its dull light. The Yule had begun.


	3. The Julekalender

It was a quiet day in Norway’s house. He had spent the early hours wrapping the presents he had bought the day before and cleaning up a bit around the house. Now, the darkness had fallen upon the earth and he sat down in the living room, in front of the television. The dull light from the Christmas-star brought a cosy atmosphere to the place, casting shadows on the wooden walls and the old pictures hanging on them.

  
As the advertisement kept on playing on the screen, Norway bent forward in his chair so he could reach the table in front of him. With a box of matches he lit a small candle to light up the room a bit. From a store-bought box he picked out a butter biscuit just as the advent calendar was about begin on the television.

  
The Julekalender from 1994 had been a great hit in his country, and the silliness of it was often repeated as jokes among his people. Of course, this was not the only calendar that was sent on the television. He could hardly keep count on all the ones that existed by this point. Of course, there was _Christmas in the Blue Mountain_ , _Christmas in the shoemaker-street_ , as well as the parodies made from them and many more. A selected few was sent each channel very day from December 1st to December 24th, and everyone was always waiting in excitement to the day it was announced which calendars would be aired this year.

  
Norway watched as the _nisse_ s sang and as Gertrude talked on the phone. Gertrude and Olaf played a lot on the regional stereotypes and he could easily recall a few people from a few years back that reminded him of them. The whole thing was very nostalgic, and the Norwenglish the _nisses_ used was always as horrible as he remembered it to be. You could clearly see it was not made to be of good quality, but for good entertainment. After the ten minutes the episode lasted, Norway muted the television and fetched his computer. As the candles burnt further down, he finished the evening browsing the internet and popping open the second square on his chocolate calendar.


	4. Yule Sheaf

The sun poked out from behind the clouds and let its rays hit the white snow covering the ground. In contrast to the house and the environment around, the red barn stuck out visibly where it stood. The area framed by the two buildings and the storehouse was plain save for a single, quite large, birch tree. The forest behind provided a cover, as if to hide the home from the world around it, the only view the road leading up through the grass fields around it. On a kicksled, slowly walking up the slight hill came a young man, somewhere in his twenties. Some people might wonder how this man could afford his own house and why he lived there all alone on those instances he was actually home. Fortunately for the man, he had no neighbours who could ask all these questions. However, a great advantage of being _Norway_ and living at his place, was that people rarely asked questions or intruded on others’ private life.

  
Norway took the last few steps up to the front porch and placed his red kicksled by the stairs up to the door. With no hurry he lifted the sheaf he had just bought at the store up from the seat and tucked it under his arm. As he strode over to the barn, he pulled out a red ribbon from his pocket and shook it a bit so that it would untangle. At the corner of the building, in between the house, there was a thin birch, naked in the snow and only about ten years old. Norway stuffed his mittens in his right pocket as he hoisted the sheaf up to a branch about the same height as his face, and tied it to the tree with the ribbon. With a satisfied look, he let his eyes rest over his handywork before he was content and walked back towards the house. Just as he was about to enter through the front door, he paused and threw one last look over to the sheaf. Already, there was two bullfinches and a great tit fluttering about and eating at the grain, happy to be fed. Like those birds, the people here refused to locate further down south during the season. There would be no Yule without helping out the local animal life survive the long winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the middle of exams atm, so some of these chapters will be a bit short - longer ones will come!


	5. Gløgg and Slow TV

He stirred the pot with a wooden spoon, careful not to spill any of the contents over the stove. The liquid had just begun to heat up, and it wouldn’t be long until it came to boil. Outside the kitchen window, the weather was terrible. The sky was grey and mix between snow and rain that had been falling all day came sideways. Almost all of the snow that had fallen up until yesterday had melted, making everything dark as the sun had already set even though it was only three o’clock. Norway could feel the winter depression set in already, as it did every year when the days were short and the nights seemingly never-ending. There were no birds on the sheaf today, they probably weren’t able to fly in this weather.

  
Small bubbles made their way to the surface of the dark liquid in the pot, and Norway turned off the plate and moved the pot off it. The smell of the _gløgg_ filled the room and made him relax with contentment. Out of the cupboard above the sink, he fetched out one of his old mugs and put it on the counter. The mug had been a gift from one of his old neighbours in the 1930s. A married couple with four children where the father had been a captain on a ship, travelling around the world. On one of his trips he had brought home matching mugs for all of his children, and one for Norway as well. Of course, they were a gone by now, with the last surviving of the children passing away just a decade ago. He wondered who had their mugs now, if they had been broken or sold off, or made forgotten in a box on the attic somewhere. The mug was neatly decorated with black and golden paint, portraying trees, mountains, and small houses. It looked like it had come from China, or made it was Hong Kong? IT was hard to tell, and Norway never asked the other nations as he didn’t want to bother them with something small like this. It wasn’t important where it was from, but the thought behind the gift.

  
Norway smiled as he remembered the captain and his family. They were very much like the rest of his people and himself – unable to sit still for very long periods of time. There was always something in him itching to move out. He had always been like that. He needed to be out on the sea, travelling to far off places. As he came to be, in his younger years as a Viking, he had seen Sweden going east and trading with Ukraine and her neighbours, Denmark going west on raids at England and France’s places. However, unlike his brothers, Norway had wanted more. He had taken his boat and set out further than anyone in Europe had been at that point. He went to Scotland, the Faroes, he discovered Iceland, Greenland, and what later became Canada. He went all over the Mediterranean to Bysants – no, Istanbul – and served for the emperors there. Still, when he had been forced to join the union with Denmark and his freedom became more restricted, he found every possible way to get out. Denmark would never have been able to maintain his fleet without him. While Denmark had been comfortable living in København, Norway had served on battleships against Sweden, travelled the all the way Africa for trade, and fought the wars at sea. When he finally became his own country in the 1800s, however, he had taken more time for himself, trying to figure out who he was after four hundred years under Danish rule. However, that soon came to an end with the new century, and he went out to explore again. He went to live at Canada’s place for a while after walking across Greenland on ski, living out in the wilderness of the nature, which was much richer than his own barren land, and sailed across the Pacific. After that he had beaten England in the race to the South Pole. Then the war broke out, and there wasn’t a single beaching during those years that Norway didn’t contribute to. Now… now things were different. After the war he had had to build himself up again, and now when he travelled, it was usually on diplomatic business. The world had become so small. Before it had been big.

  
Norway poured the _gløgg_ over into his mug and added the mix of chopped up almonds and raisins before he moved over into the living room. Placing the mug on the side table, he sat down in his arm chair and turned on the TV. This was a day perfect for _slow tv_ , Norway thought as he changed the channel to where they were airing a _minute for minute_ from 2017 about the reindeer migration in the northern parts of his country. He sipped his _gløgg_ and fetched out his knitting, continuing on the patterned mittens planned as a small gift for one of the asylum centers. He mostly just liked to keep his fingers busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gløgg is kind of like mulled wine, just a bit different.


	6. The Good Neighbour

“I’d recommend the local beer.”

  
“Which one?”

  
“The one on tap.”

  
“Mm.”

  
They sat down at a table tucked away in one of the many nooks of the pub, where they couldn’t hear all the noise from all the other people out on town Friday night. The pub was located in one of the old storage-houses that sat by the river flowing through the city, complete with the old wooden beams several hundred years old, low ceiling, and with odd knick-knacks hung upon every wall with the place for it. There was no panelling there, except for at the bar, which made the atmosphere dark and cosy as everything was made from wood, including the chairs and tables. _The Good Neighbour_ was simply the best pub in town. The only draw-back being that the floor was slightly slanted, so if you sat in the correct spot, your drink would slowly slide down the table. But you could probably defend that as just adding to its charm.

  
Norway sipped at his beer as Sweden made himself comfortable across from him. The pub was quite crowded today, as had been the case since the summer due to its sudden fame after a good review from an international company. Sweden had taken a weekend off to come visit him now during the holiday season, and Norway always thought it fitting to bring him here.

  
“What do you think?”

  
“It’s good.”

  
“Of course, it’s local.”

  
“Mm, this is where all the alcoholics live, isn’t it?”

  
“Just some.” Norway smirked. Sweden had always been his closest friend. “Do you want to hear a joke?”

  
“No, don’t.” Sweden sighed as he sagged his shoulders. “I’ve already heard them before.”

  
“Did you know why they down have ice cubes in Sweden?”

  
“We do have them.”

  
“The guy with the recipe died.”

  
“Ugh. It’s not even that funny.”

  
“If you say so.” Norway let out a chuckle. “But that reminds me; did you hear about the Swede who-”

  
“Another joke?”

  
“No, this actually happened. One of your people was driving over here, stopped in front of a tunnel and made such a long queue behind that he made the news. All because of a sigh that said “7 t”, you know; 7 ton – as no vehicle over 7 ton can pass. He thought the “t” meant _hours_ , as if he had to wait 7 hours before he could enter.”

  
“Yeah… I saw that.”

  
“There’s a reason we joke about you.”

  
“And I thought it was because you didn’t like me.”

  
“Well, too be fair, you joke about me as well, so I think it’s fine.”

  
“I suppose.”

  
The music from the speakers made itself known in the few instances the conversation around them became quieter. Tonight, there was a good mix of old rock and pop songs, but Norway had been there once when they had played some weird modern take on traditional herding calls. That had been an… experience.

  
“So… do you have any hope of victory tomorrow?”

  
“You know I don’t.”

  
“Why not?”

  
“Maybe because you’ve been dominating cross-country skiing the last five years, and it’s impossible to beat Johaug or Klæbo?”

  
“Maybe you should get good then?” Norway flashed a smile at his neighbour.

  
“I’m regretting this trip already.”


	7. 7 kinds

“Could you pass me the sugar?”

  
“Here.”

  
“Thanks.” Norway poured the some of the ingredient from the paper bag and into a measuring cup, and then a bit more to get the exact amount he needed. Then he proceeded to add it to the mixing bowl along with the flour and began stirring it.

  
Sweden was standing in the doorway in between the kitchen and the living room, leaning against the frame, his attention mostly on the television, watching the race that was on. Large hills covered in spruces and covered with a white blanket, the athletes competing for first place as a big audience all along the tracks cheering them on. Different flags were waived through the air; Norwegian, Swedish, Finnish, Russian, Italian, French, almost every single European country was represented as well as Japan and USA. However, a Russian and two Norwegians had just pulled ahead of the leading group, narrowing the chances of anyone else.

  
“How’s your competitors doing?” Norway asked as he mixed in the melted butter and the dark syrup, not bothering to look up because he could hear the commentators from where he stood at the counter. He only got a short grunt in reply. “Who?”

  
“Burman.”

  
“Well, that’s a surprise. Everyone else sick?”

  
“Yeah.”

  
“Too bad.” Norway grabbed the bowl and took it with him to stand along side Sweden as the trio on the television closed in on the finish line. He groaned as the Russian guy parked the other two behind him and raced in to first place.

  
“Fuck.” Places two through six were all taken by Norwegians and Burman took seventh for Sweden.

  
“Drugs?”

  
“That’s for the jury to decide I suppose. What do you think?”

  
“Don’t think so.”

  
“Yeah, me neither.”

  
They both stepped back into the kitchen and Norway continued with the stirring, almost done with the dough for the ginger snaps. He put it back on the counter as Sweden sat down at the kitchen table by the cook-book, studying the ingredients they would need for the next recipe. Norway went over to a cabinet in the corner and pulled out a bottle he brought over to the other, fetching two glass on the way there. He poured the contents over into the them, the liquid a soft, thick, yellow colour, and took a sip of his own cup.

  
“What’s this?”

  
“I made some apple-cider for Yule this year. It’s quite dry though.”

  
Sweden tried the liquid, making a small face as he swallowed.

  
“A bit sour.”

  
“A bit, yeah.” Norway brought his glass with him as he stepped over to the kitchen counter again, ready with another bowl as the first one should sit and raise for a short while.

  
“What’s the next on the list?”

  
“ _Krumkake_.”

  
“Right.”

  
“Is it really necessary to make seven different kinds of cakes every year for Yule?”

  
“It’s tradition.” Norway huffed. “And I enjoy baking.”

  
“This is why you had the butter-crisis in 2011. Every one of these cakes takes a ton of butter.”

  
“It was a bad production year.” Norway muttered through his teeth. “It won’t happen again.”

  
“If you say so.”

  
“So, what do I need for the _krumkake_?”

  
“Butter.”


End file.
